After a two-year stint working at Consignment Lounge in Chicago, which boasts a diverse menu of amari, I’ve become a big fan of all sorts of bitter bottles. At the vintage-shop-meets-grandma’s-basement-meets-neighborhood-cocktail-bar, I was introduced to (and came to love) lesser-known bottles like Heirloom’s Pineapple Amaro or Matchbook Distilling’s Day Trip Strawberry Amaro, which we served neat and in a range of cocktails.
But one bitter liqueur has evaded my affection: Campari. For me, it just doesn’t have the right balance of herbaceousness and sweetness; I’m not always in the mood for its specific brand of bitterness. I know this may shock—even offend—some of my cocktail bartender peers, but it’s the truth. I love it in a Jungle Bird, but I’ll take a White Negroni over a classic one any day. And you certainly won’t find me drinking it by itself or experimenting with it in a new cocktail.
One day, however, after closing out a long prep shift, I took a seat at the bar. Kissed by a warm June breeze that wafted through the windows, I couldn’t help but crave something light, refreshing, fizzy and just a little bitter. We always had a batched Ferrari shot for our house beer-and-shot combo—in fact, it was the serve that got me accustomed to amari in the first place—and something about that beloved blend of Fernet-Branca and Campari tempers each ingredient’s intensity. I figured: Why not put the Ferrari in an Americano?
The result was a deliciously bittersweet Americano riff that I’ve been calling an Enzo, after the founder of Ferrari. The two liqueurs marry with the orange peel and sweet vermouth’s (specifically Carpano Antica’s) richer, sweeter notes—like a tangy, bitter, grown-up bubblegum—in the best way. Since then, it’s become my go-to for a breezy, open-window kinda day.
